


Maribelle's Cotillion for Felicitous Young People

by mukaismom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, brady being flustered bc thats just how it be, brady-centric, cotillion au, i literally only rated it T bc brady says like a single swear word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13905486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mukaismom/pseuds/mukaismom
Summary: it's dance time with brady and inigo





	Maribelle's Cotillion for Felicitous Young People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iavenjqasdf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iavenjqasdf/gifts).



> terk...if ur reading this....goodbye...  
> jk but also this is not up to par but i hope you like it anyway lmao. im the m-dash king  
> also-also she would totally name the dance smthg pretentious and old-fashioned like that

Brady loves the scent of roses. Each morning, he smells his mother’s rosehip perfume waft from her dressing room to the kitchen as he eats breakfast. It’s comforting, usually, but as he stands in his mother’s ballroom by the glass refreshments table with a bouquet behind him, its scent feels too sweet and too much.

Maribelle holds cotillion every year where teens learn different kinds of ballroom dances and table manners, all useless in the real world but pleasant in a flowery, aristocratic way that only Maribelle can pull off. Their house is a literal mansion, after all, set on a wide swath of farmland with stables where they board other rich people’s horses.

Gerome boards Minerva at Brady's place. She’s a black Arabian horse, agile and wicked smart, but she doesn’t truly respond to anyone except Gerome and Cherche. Her age is a mystery, but Brady’s heard rumors that she was Cherche’s childhood horse too. Somehow, with the sharp way Minerva looks at him, he wouldn’t be all that surprised.

It’s free dance today, which means he actually has the time (and space) to let his mind wander. Minerva’s a nice distraction from the crowd, but definitely not for long enough.He attends the classes each year to support his mom, but like many things Maribelle loves, Brady hates it. She’s accepted that, but it’s clear she’s disappointed that Brady at least didn’t end up a good dancer. She hasn’t said it, but Brady feels it. At this point, he doesn’t really mind.

What he _does_ mind is the overwhelming amount of high school classmates wandering around the ballroom. He feels like he can hear every squeak of their nice leather shoes on the white marble, and “The Voices of Spring” feels scratchy pouring from Maribelle’s expensive speakers.

Every cotillion is overwhelming, but it’s worse this year because it seems like his entire class is attending. Maribelle holds brunches weekly and Brady’s fairly sure she knows almost every single one of his classmate’s parents, so there must’ve been some discount involved, and there’s not much to do in Ylisse anyway. He knows Inigo’s got a discount at least, but he thinks at this point in the lessons Maribelle should probably pay him because of how much instructing he’s doing.

Each year, she pairs kids carefully based on chemistry (or lack of it, she admitted to Brady once, “hardship builds character, darling,”) and dancing ability. That’s where Inigo comes in. Maribelle throws him on any kid who shows need for improvement because she expects (accurately so) that he’ll guide them through in a way that helps them remember the steps—or at least dance reasonably in the moment. When everyone gets the hang of it, Brady ends up matched with Inigo under Maribelle’s watchful gaze. Brady may know the steps, but he sure as hell isn’t graceful about it.

It was embarrassing when he was little. The instructor’s son— _Maribelle's_ son-- with no grasp of subtlety. He’s used to it now, but this year’s class is more taxing than usual because Inigo is here. Usually, everyone learns together. But everyone knows Inigo can dance, well enough to help his mom give advanced lessons at her dance studio on the weekends, and Kjelle said she saw him practicing a ballet routine at the park one day and that it was beautiful. It was the first time Brady heard her compliment anyone besides Noire outright.

But Kjelle was right. This stupid, overwhelming cotillion class was almost worth it just to watch Inigo dance.

He’s with Gerome right now, and each step he takes flows seamlessly into the next. He laughs at something Gerome says, head back, and doesn’t even falter. He’s got these stiff gray slacks on and a collared shirt, and Brady thinks he was in a rush because he normally wears a suit and his collar is half-popped, but somehow he stills looks good. He thinks maybe it’s the dancing that does it to him.

He feels his stomach churn a little. It’s not jealousy. He knows what it’s like to be so good at something it’s second nature. Sometimes, he wishes Maribelle would just let him play the violin as the others dance because at least he’s confident in that aspect. But since he can’t, he’ll spend the time watching Inigo dance across the room.

Brady used to think “float” was only used to describe women in period dramas with ballgowns like Maribelle wears. But watching Inigo, he suddenly knows that it’s not about the dress. He’s light as he spins Gerome around the room, even in those slacks. Brady wishes he could do that, but mostly, he wishes Owain were here.

He’d have someone to talk to then, dance with, even though Owain’s worse than he is. He doesn’t have the rhythm that comes with learning an instrument, but still, he can’t remember the last time he’s done cotillion without Owain. Or any kind of social gathering, for that matter. Every party he’s gone to this year has been with Owain enthusiastically by his side. Both Maribelle and Lissa joke about how they’re like brothers. He would’ve agreed with that even up until last year, but last summer they kissed by the lake and all thoughts of “brothers” flew out the window.

Not that he regrets kissing him at all. He just wishes that someone might tell him “Oh, Brady, you and Owain would be perfect together,” just so he knows, but that has yet to happen. Now he needs a distraction from more than just the crowd.

He scans the room for more friends. They’re all dancing, not really surprising given the occasion except maybe on Severa’s part, but one smile from Lucina sent her right to the floor. Her red hair’s in a bun with a rainbow butterfly pin fastened at the base; definitely something Lucina bought her. Maribelle would call it garish, but Brady thinks the gesture is cute enough that it outweighs ugliness. Noire’s with Kjelle and Cynthia with Morgan, giggling as she steps on his feet.

The song changes. It’s “Waltz of the Flowers” now, which would normally cheer him up, but it’s hard to really enjoy it when he’s drinking sweet tea without happy thoughts or Owain to distract him. He turns back to fill another cup when someone taps him on the shoulder. He whips around with a squeak.

Inigo laughs at him. “Having fun there?” he says. From here, Brady can tell Inigo’s hair is slicked back almost as much as his is. He sets down his glass.

“Whaddya want?” Brady scowls. He can tell his cheeks are red and he hates it.

“I mean, I thought it’d be obvious, but you don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. Also,” Inigo leans in, “you kinda look like you need a distraction.”

Brady feels a pang of relief. “Where’s Gerome?” Brady asks. He'd expected Inigo to spend more time with him.

“He’s busy talking to Laurent about some group project right now,” Inigo says. “So,” he grins, “you up for it?” Brady takes his outstretched hand.

He’s been friends with Inigo almost as long as Owain because Maribelle made him take lessons at Olivia’s studio when he was little—maybe seven or eight years old. Inigo sat in the corner by the windows, doing schoolwork or doodling. Sometimes he’d call out improvements, and Olivia would scold him. Brady thinks the reason they became friends is because Inigo didn’t care how tough Brady acted. He cried soon enough in front of him anyway—he’d seen a butterfly with a broken wing—and he, Inigo, and Owain all took care of it. He comforted Brady when it died.

Even now, he puts Brady at ease. He still feels too warm in his tux and stutters “sorry” when he brushes into a stranger, but soon Inigo guides him to a quieter part of the floor. His hand is soft but firm against Brady’s back and he doesn’t mention how sweaty his hand is at all. Brady falls into the rhythm easily— _one two three, one two three_ —and he notices belatedly that Inigo smells of roses. He says so.

This time, Inigo blushes. “Ah, yeah, I was cutting roses from the garden before I came here. For Gerome,” he adds.

Brady lights up. “Aw, you romantic,” he says. “He musta loved ‘em.”

Inigo blushes harder and laughs. “Yeah, see, it turns out he’s allergic.” Inigo nods in Gerome’s direction, and Brady peeks in between couples. He and Laurent are now snacking on cookies from the snack table.

“You can’t tell from here, but he’s actually got this really disgusting rash on his hands right now. No offense. Somehow he’s never held a single rose in his life, but I guess that’s kind of a blessing given how it turned out tonight. Kinda wish he’d known sooner though. Pretty embarrassing.”

Brady snorts. “What did ya do with ‘em?” He barely registers the stress of where he is, talking with Inigo like this. In the back of his mind there’s Owain, how stupid it is he never told Inigo about the kiss, and how he should fill him in later for advice. Via text, he decides, because he doesn’t want to say it aloud. But the thoughts are faint, like the buzz of an old light bulb.

“Threw them out,” Inigo shrugs. “What can you do.”

“Dumbass,” Brady says. “Ya could’ve asked Ma to put ‘em in a vase or somethin’.”

“Toooo late,” Inigo says with a smile. Brady smiles back. It’s hard not to. “My dignity’s been crushed by those things already, I don’t need to be staring at them the entire night.”

“Well, it wasn’t you who ended up with a rash,” Brady points out. Inigo spins him around.

“Shut up,” Inigo laughs. The music crescendos to finish, and Brady is so absorbed he almost takes another step.

 _I would’ve taken ‘em,_ Brady thinks as they step apart.

“The roses? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I have them in surplus,” Inigo says.

“What?” Brady says. _Oh god, did I say that aloud?_

Inigo giggles, and in a flash he’s on his tip-toes and leaves a kiss on Brady’s cheek. “See you later. I’m gonna go grab Gerome, okay? Find me if you hear any drama.”

Brady’s still, sweating into his ridiculous Maribelle-approved tux, but he barely notices. He’s thinking about the scent of roses.


End file.
